That Sodding Marriage Law
by cosmictigress
Summary: Hermione Granger would sooner propose to Lord Voldemort than marry Draco Malfoy.
1. Chapter 1

"No! This can't be happening!" Hermione moaned, falling forward onto her bed. She buried her face into her pristine sheets, willing it to be just a nightmare. Her hand still held the letter, all crumpled from her distress. She remained in that position for several minutes, before sitting upright. She glanced at the wrinkled parchment in her grasp, scrunched it into a ball, and tossed it across her room, where it rebounded off the wall and onto the floor. She didn't know how long she'd sat on her bed just gazing mournfully at the wall but she knew it was depression recovery time.

* * *

That was how Harry Potter found his best friend. He had just returned to their shared home, lugging groceries when he heard sobbing from within Number 12, Grimmauld Place. The bespectacled boy rushed in, dropping the groceries in his hurry to envelope his friend into a tight embrace and soothe her grief away.

"I'll never let go, Jack. I'll never let go."

The sobbing grew louder in volume.

"Hermione! What's gotten you into this state!" Harry exclaimed, annoyed at the brunette for worrying him. He took in the state of his best friend, bundled up in a comforter, clutching a tub of ice cream in one hand and a spoon in another.

Hermione looked up, startled, the tears streaming down her cheeks mixing with the chocolate smears on her mouth. "Sad," she sniffed eloquently.

The sight of Hermione was too much, Harry couldn't bear it anymore and he started guffawing. He laughed long and hard, clutching his stomach which was beginning to hurt.

"I-I'm sorry, Hermione. It's just… Hahahaha," Harry managed to wheeze out. Something silver flashed in his peripheral vision and he caught it by the handle before it made contact with his face. He held the spoon up, waving it at her triumphantly.

"Damn Seeker reflexes…" Hermione grumbled to herself, getting up from the couch to clean up her mess. She shuffled toward the still laughing Harry, snatching the spoon back and headed towards the kitchen, muttering about Ginny and Bat Bogey Hexes.

"So what brought that about?" Harry asked as he entered the kitchen with the groceries he had abandoned in the hallway earlier.

"I got my letter from the Ministry this morning. It's Draco Malfoy," she replied slowly. She sounded as if she had gritted her teeth while forcing the name out.

Harry started chortling, his resonant voice reverberated through the kitchen.

"Draco Malfoy? Why, Hermione, you're making me laugh an awful lot today." He wiped at the corner of his eye. Hermione glared at him with her lips pursed and her arms crossed in front of her.

"You're serious, aren't you?" Harry questioned anyway, even though he knew the answer.

"Oh, Harry, what am I gonna do? I can't believe that Sorting Hat paired me with that insufferable git. Out of all the men, why Draco Malfoy? I must have been a very horrible person in my previous life-"

"C'mere." Harry beckoned to her with open arms and Hermione leaned into his embrace, burying her face into his hard chest. His arms circled around her, enveloping her in comfortable warmth. "Hermione, it will be alright."

"That's because you don't have to marry him," came her muffled reply. He chuckled.

"You're Hermione Granger. You're smart, brave, strong and beautiful. Have you forgotten that you've faced full grown Death Eaters, and helped take down Voldy? Malfoy'll be a piece of cake. It'll be alright." Harry felt her smile against his chest and he planted a quick kiss on the top of her head. "Or else, you could count on us to beat the shit out of him, if he so much as look at you the wrong way."

Hermione snickered, the thought of Malfoy being roughed by Harry and the Weasleys uplifted her spirit. "Thanks, Harry. You can let go of me now."

"Now that you're feeling much better, you put away the groceries." Harry tore out of the kitchen, laughing evilly, leaving Hermione with several bags of groceries and the realization that she had left her wand upstairs in her bedroom.

"HARRY POTTER, COME BACK HERE! HARRY!"

* * *

**It was fun writing this but I don't think I'll be continuing it. Thank you for reading!**


	2. Chapter 2

"'Mione, you're going to cut off the blood circulation in my arm," Harry commented casually to his best friend, who had been gripping his arm since they'd entered the Atrium of the Ministry of Magic.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Harry," Hermione replied absentmindedly, but she didn't relinquish her vice like clasp on his arm. She was recalling slapping a certain blond boy with all the strength she could muster, and she felt she should hold on to something to prevent doing anything she would regret. She wasn't nervous, no, she refused to be overwrought by the blond menace. She just really didn't look forward to being married against her will.

The pair nearly toppled over when the lift they were traveling in lurched to a stop, announcing that they were at Level 2, Department of Magical Law Enforcement. The lift's wrought golden grilles folded and several pale violet coloured paper aeroplanes that accompanied them in their ascend whizzed out to their destinations. The pair exited the lift, almost hesitantly. If today had been any other day, they would have hurried to the Auror Office, calling out apologies to people they'd bumped into, their hands frantically patting their hair in a vain attempt to neaten their rebellious locks. Instead of heading down the familiar corridor that would lead them to the Auror headquarters, Harry steered them to an unfamiliar hallway. Hermione released her grasp on her friend's arm, the new environment removing her growing apprehension. The two teased and made small talk as they walked until they reached large glass doors.

The Registry of Magical Marriage was impressive, Hermione grudgingly mused, with its high taupe ceiling, real wood flooring and stunning luxury sofas that seated a few anxious looking wizards. They moved to the receptionist, a cheerful witch who greeted them enthusiastically. She gave directions to the friends and the pair made their way to their appointment room, passing many ornate wooden doors with gold numbers before reaching number 22. They paused, bracing themselves for whatever that lay behind the heavy door. Hermione took a deep breath, rapped the door with her knuckles and entered.

"Finally," drawled a long-suffering voice she hoped to never hear again.

Hermione resisted the urge to look heavenward, they weren't even close to being late for their appointment.

"Good morning," she addressed the solemniser and the Malfoy matriarch, ignoring her aggravating husband-to-be as she surveyed the room. A long and large wooden table dominated the spacious yet bare chamber. Hermione reluctantly took a seat next to the arrogant git while Harry went to occupy the vacant chair by the shorter side of the table.

"So let's get started, shall we?"

* * *

She can't believe it. She was married. Married to Malfoy. She'd just signed the marriage certificates. Dumbfounded, she stared at the innocent papers but not really seeing them at all. Her mind conjured memories of her youth, of Malfoy degrading her parentage, ridiculing her friends and overall being an arrogant, spiteful bully. And she'd just married him! His ring encircled her finger! Her brain whirred, maybe she could incinerate the certificates and swiftly escape this wretched place. She'd stop at Grimmauld Place, quickly grab her things and flee from the country. Money wasn't an issue for her, the prize money she'd been awarded for being instrumental in Voldemort's downfall was a hefty sum. She cracked a smile at this, the Ministry would unwittingly aid in her getaway. The Magical Law Enforcement Patrol would have a hard time tracking her down, she could easily melt into a huge muggle settlement. But where would she go? Zanzibar, Mauritius, Maldives, Casablanca... Yes, Casablanca, she'd always wanted to visit Casablanca. The hard, tanned bodies of the lifeguards and cabana boys... She could almost feel a cabana boy's strong hands kneading the knots in her shoulders, whispering her name seductively.

"Hermione," the voice called. She frowned. That sounded like Harry. "I think she's in shock. Hermione!"

The hand on her shoulder shook her urgently, snapping her back to reality forcibly.

"Oh, Harry, the cabana boy was massaging me!" she whined, feeling irritation towards her best friend. Belatedly, she realized that she was still in the Registry, and still very married. She apologised, blushing deeply.

"Who'd ever think that the prude would indulge in such fantasies," said Malfoy snidely.

If ever a face meant death, the newly married Hermione Granger would be a widow. She wouldn't deign to retort.

"Will that be be all, Mr Jones?" asked Hermione, transforming her look of strong hostility into a pleasant smile.

Surprised and admittedly, a little frightened by the young woman's abrupt change in demeanor, the solemniser nodded and pushed the certificates towards the newlyweds. "Y-yes, The ceremony is over. Please do take these with you."

Hermione placed hers into her clutch and made a move to stand when the Malfoy matriarch spoke.

"Miss Granger, I'd like you to join us for lunch this afternoon. We have matters to discuss," said Mrs Malfoy, offering her a tiny smile.

No, she didn't want to spend any more time with any of the Malfoys!

"Er...I'm afraid I'm unavailable today. Perhaps another time?" she replied, fixing an apologetic look on her face.

"Is Saturday noon agreeable with you?"

"Yes, it is," she acquiesced, happy to delay the inevitable by a few days.

"Wonderful. Draco will send you an owl." Malfoy narrowed his eyes at her.

"Alright. Then we'll be leaving first. Thanks Mr Jones, Mrs Malfoy," she said and fled from the room as slowly as she could.

* * *

**Please leave comments, I'd like to know what I can improve on. Thanks for reading!**


	3. Chapter 3

Diagon Alley was thriving with chaotic activity; wizards and witches bustled in every direction, some hurrying to their destination, some ambled along in an aimless manner. Hermione Granger did not fall into either of these two categories; she stood still, her back straight with her arms folded over her chest, her eyes occasionally scanning the seething throng of people for white-blond hair. Her feet, encased in five inch black leather death traps or 'Giuseppe Zanotti pumps', Ginny had called them, were beginning to ache and she longed to remove the malicious shoes the fiery redhead had forced her into. She glanced at her watch; the sun glinted off its glass face and into her eyes. Eleven fifty-five. She'd been here for nearly fifteen minutes and she'd not seen the conceited Malfoy heir. Chafed at his rudeness, she decided not to keep her rendezvous with him after all and turned towards the direction of Flourish and Blotts, wishing to salvage her ruined day. She hadn't taken more than a few discrete steps when a strong hand clamped around her elbow, pulling her back and causing her to stumble a little.

"Leaving so soon, Granger?" Malfoy asked, leering at her from his greater height.

"You're late," she replied coldly, jerking her arm free from his unwelcome grasp. Malfoy disregarded her true accusation and recaptured her arm. The next thing she knew, she was engulfed in darkness along with the familiar sensation of being compressed from all directions.

When she could finally draw breath again, she found herself standing on a wide gravel driveway, which passed through a pair of magnificent wrought-iron gates a short distance away.

"A warning would have been nice, Malfoy," she growled, snatching her arm from his firm grip.

"Sure, but where's the fun in that?" he laughed throatily, already walking ahead, his leather loafers crunching on the gravel. Hermione would have retorted, but she had more pressing concerns at the moment, for instance: staying upright; her shoes were visibly unsuitable for the incongruent terrain they were currently trudging on. She tottered after Malfoy, who had already arrived at the towering gates and watched in wonderment, as he nonchalantly moved through them; the gates had turned into swirling wisps of charcoal-coloured smoke, which curled up before forming back together and solidifying.

"Uh, Malfoy? Will I be able to go through?" she called out when he didn't appear to stop to wait for her.

"Yes," came his amused response; his back was to her but she knew he was smirking. She gave the grand structure an uncertain glance, before taking a hesitant step through it. The gates twisted into abstract furling billows of coiling smoke that caressed her skin, tenderly almost; it was akin to passing through cool vapour, if she had to describe the peculiar sensation. She had half-expected the gates to remain substantial and solid, barring her entrance to the opulent Malfoy residence. She held in an awed gasp. The manor was a handsome edifice, built on two floors and encircled by elaborate and well-maintained gardens, somewhere one contained a spectacular marmoreal fountain. The walk to the manor was short, the peaceful silence broken by the loud crunching of footsteps on the gravel path. The front door swung inward at their approach and she received a large, dimly lit and extravagantly ornamented hallway, lush carpeting concealing most of the cold stone floor. Malfoy led them towards a bronze-handled door at the end of the hall, the eyes belonging to the pale-faced portraits lining the walls followed Hermione.

The door opened to reveal a very impressive drawing room, decorated with a long ornate table and rustic furnishings; more portraits hung from the plum-coloured walls and in the centre of the chamber, a large crystal chandelier was suspended. Narcissa Malfoy, seated at the head of the table, looked up at their entrance and smiled.

"You're here," she stated, in a clear voice, but Hermione didn't hear her. Memories, indelible and immutable, of her last visit here burst in her mind, sweeping over her like a strong wind over dark waters. She had writhed, convulsed on this very floor, her piercing screams, blended with Bellatrix's mad shrieks, echoing off the walls as wave after wave of bewildering pain racked her trashing body, while the Malfoys, with identical masks of blank apathy, looked on by the marble mantelpiece. Unconsciousness had almost claimed her, when she was finally released from the deadly vice of pain.

"I-I can't be here," she uttered hoarsely when she surfaced from her stricken state. She pivoted on her feet, twisting her arm free from Malfoy's hold when he grabbed her.

"Wait, Granger!" She heard him shout, but she didn't stop, she flew through the entrance hall, and out of the front door, thumping down the steps, distantly aware that she'd somehow lost her pumps in her desperate need to get out of the drawing room. Ginny was going to be furious. The pain of gravel sinking into her bare feet didn't register in her chaotic mind; she'd feel it later. When she was certain she was far away enough to Disapparate, she turned into the suffocating darkness.

* * *

**Wrote this in a hurry, let me know if there are mistakes. Thanks for reading!**


	4. Chapter 4

"You're lying, aren't you? You probably tossed them in a garbage can somewhere to spite me," Ginny petulantly accused her curly haired friend, who was lounging on the sofa, carelessly flipping through a thick tome in her lap. A crackling fire danced in the large stone fireplace, radiating comfortable heat and investing the drab drawing room of 12 Grimmauld Place in a golden flickering glow.

"Gin, I'll get them back," Hermione promised tiredly. "I just need time." She suddenly snapped her volume shut, startling Ginny, and groused, "I still can't believe I broke down like that."

Hermione prided herself on being strong and self-possessed, able to be calm and poised even in the face of trouble and to have broken down, and in the presence of her two enemies at that, it was a massive blow to her ego, and she was furious with herself.

Ginny plopped down next to the distraught witch, drawing her into a tight hug. She released the brunette shortly after and firmly gripped her friend's slim shoulders. "Oh, 'Mione, we've talked about this before," she chided gently. "It's-" Whatever Ginny was about to say was cut off as the fireplace roared; the flames had turn a blazing emerald, plunging the room into greenish gloom and emerging out of it was a drenched, soot-covered Harry Potter.

"Harry! What the hell happened to you?" exclaimed Ginny.

"Lovely to see you too, Gin. Was raining in the office. I'll go get changed," Harry answered sullenly, thumping up the stairs and leaving little pools of water in his wake. The girls snickered at his bedraggled state.

Ginny, abruptly sober, continued where she left off, "As I was saying-"

A loud, clanging noise reverberated throughout the former headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix, awakening the portrait of Walburga Black, and the ancestral home of the Black family resounded with her deafening screams.

"What the hell," Hermione said in alarm and disbelief; the doorbell had not been rung in years. The pair descended to the ground floor, and hurried through the long hallway to where the shrieking portrait was hung.

"Mudbloods! Filth! Taint of-" Hermione flicked her wand at the portrait; the moth-eaten velvet curtains that had flown apart shut close, concealing it and effectively silencing the shrieking picture. She approached the door cautiously, glancing uncertainly at Ginny, who nodded, her wand at the ready. Hermione flung the door open and swiftly and expertly jabbed the tip of her wand under the jaw of the unexpected caller.

"Easy there, Granger…Weasley," appeased Malfoy; raising his hands in a gesture intended to placate her. A plain paper bag swung from his left wrist.

"Who told you of this place?" she demanded, her voice thick with suspicion.

"So nosy. Fine, I asked Padma Patil. Now, will you remove your wand and let me in?"

She narrowed her eyes at him, but lowered her wand and reluctantly invited him in. "So, why are you here?" she asked as she preceded them to the drawing room.

"To see my charming wife, of course," he answered roguishly, flashing her his trademark smirk and settling himself in one of the sofas. Ginny perched on the armrest of the other sofa while Hermione remained standing, her arms crossed as she waited for Malfoy to divulge his real purpose.

"I came here to ask you out for lunch. We do still have matters to discuss," he reminded her pointedly. Hermione flushed at his insinuation.

"Now?"

"Yes, unless you have other commitments." His gaze rested on Ginny, who glared back.

"Wait here, I'll go get changed." Hermione stalked out of the drawing room, Ginny trailing after her.

"Who's our guest?" Harry questioned the two when he encountered them at the staircase.

"See for yourself," Hermione responded, her eyes glinting mischievously; he was immediately distrustful. Ginny snickered. Flummoxed, he continued his descent, wondering if it was Ron wanting to surprise him with his premature return from his mission. His mouth popped open in shock and surprise when he caught sight of a pale, blond figure lounging in his domicile. He quickly schooled his features into chilly detachment lest Malfoy should catch sight of him thrown off balance.

"Malfoy," he acknowledged his long time rival calmly.

"Potter."

The two men sized each other up, studying, judging, observing; the room was silent but for the crackling of the fire.

"If you ever return Hermione in that state again, you'll deal with us. Understood?" Harry threatened serenely, his emerald eyes glittering with promise. Malfoy, unperturbed, arched a delicate brow and nodded curtly, before turning his attention to Hermione's forgotten book.

"Now would you like some tea?"

"No." If Malfoy was surprised at his sudden change in deportment, he did not express it. Harry shrugged, and shuffled downstairs to the kitchen, with the intent of getting biscuits.

"If only you had your pumps," sighed Ginny wistfully, as they descended the stairs, their footfalls echoing, "they'd have pulled the outfit together."

"Maybe you should break off your engagement with Harry, since you seem to be deeply attached to my shoes," Hermione quipped; the two crossed the threshold of the drawing room.

"Merlin, you took forever. I had to lay my delicate eyes on Potter!" complained Malfoy, perching the book on the coffee table, annoyance clearly evident on his pointy features. Hermione didn't notice how his eyes glided over her body, starting from her legs, up her belly and lit on her breasts, with arch approval.

"Like you're any prettier, Malfoy," Harry countered, slinking into the room with a plate of biscuits in his hand.

"Boys!" Hermione interrupted loudly, cutting off Malfoy who was about to retort. She turned to the blond git. "Let's go?"

Malfoy rose to his feet elegantly, gesturing to the paper bag he'd placed on the table earlier. "I brought your shoes."

"Malfoy, follow!" she barked as she darted to the fireplace. She seized a handful of Floo powder from the bowl on the mantel, and tossed it into the hearth before stepping hastily into the crepitating fire; the emerald tongues licking her, and declared, "Diagon Alley!"

She threw a triumphant grin at the wrathful Ginny, before she was whisked away in a blur of flames.

* * *

"The War Heroine, afraid of heels," Malfoy snickered, as they stepped out into Diagon Alley, the dazzling afternoon sun bathing them and the cobbled street in golden light. The alley was teeming, as it always was at this hour, mostly with shoppers.

"I'm. Not. Afraid," she growled menacingly, skewering him with an intense scowl. "Now can we go eat before I decide to remove parts of your anatomy?"

"Temper, temper," Malfoy chuckled raucously, guiding her through the multitudes that thronged the wizarding alley, pushing and nudging their way through the thriving mass. They arrived at the White Peacock, an upscale restaurant Hermione had only once dined at and swore never to visit again. The eatery was a beautiful establishment, she regarded with deep admiration, with cream coloured walls and large expanses of glass; the furniture was of dark wood, which contrasted starkly against the light background-it was neat, plain and simple, yet exuded sumptuousness, as apparent in the tasteful artwork, the linen tablecloths and napkins. The place was busy, with immaculately dressed witches and wizards, chattering and exposing gleaming, expensive teeth. Of course Malfoy would surround himself with luxuriousness, Hermione thought.

The unlikely pair trailed after the maître d', weaving through the labyrinthine pathways of the splendid restaurant. She spotted Narcissa Malfoy, sitting with aloof dignity, sipping elegantly from a teacup.

"Mrs Malfoy," she greeted politely, taking a seat next to the Malfoy matriarch. Malfoy sat across her.

"Do call me, Narcissa, you're Mrs Malfoy now," Narcissa gave her a cold, gracious smile. Hermione winced internally at the subtle reminder, she nevertheless smiled back. She surreptitiously studied her mother-in-law over her menu; her complexion was clear and fair; the noble cast of her features exceptional-only her lips, though finely formed, were compressed a little too firmly; her eyes were like icy aquamarines, and her white-blonde hair was disposed into a glossy updo, graceful and elegant. She looked completely and utterly groomed, in a way Hermione, with a pang, knew she could never be, however many people went to work on her.

"So, dear, when would you like the reception to be?" Narcissa inquired in a regal voice, snapping Hermione out of her melancholic thoughts.

"Reception? But aren't Malfoy and I already married?" she asked, her brow furrowed in absolute confusion.

"Yes, but we need to celebrate it!"

"Um, I'm fine with not having a reception," she managed to say, looking at Malfoy imploringly, who shrugged and was suddenly intent on studying his glass. Bastard.

"Nonsense! Your marriage to my son is the most important social event in our lives. It must be done properly. Extravagantly." Narcissa took a sip of her champagne and smiled icily at her.

Hermione didn't want an overblown production; there was nothing to celebrate. She hated Malfoy, and she was unambiguously certain that he reciprocated her feelings. Alas, Narcissa was persistent; the matriarch would persevere obstinately until she yielded and surrendered in defeat.

"All right," she consented at last.

* * *

**Would have updated sooner, but Bioshock Infinite distracted me. Let me know what you think, and as always, thanks for reading.**


	5. Chapter 5

A dizzy Hermione found herself confined in cramped quarters, which made for uncomfortable arrangements, and did nothing to elevate her already terrible mood. The hearth had been boarded up! She hissed furiously, only one person could be behind this (pun not intended). She hammered the plywood planks with her fists, yelling promises of slow and painful dismemberment to the perpetrator. She pounded away for a while when without warning, the slabs of wood she had inadvertently been leaning against vanished, and she toppled forward to the carpeted floor, her hands flung out before her to catch herself.

Bitter curses fell upon the ears of the offender, whose seated form was heaving with laughter ever since the covered fireplace roared to life. Hermione straightened her ash-covered self, brushing the soot off her garments, glowering at the merry culprit, who, to her annoyance, did not appear to look the slightest bit guilty.

"Malfoy, you insufferable prat!" she snarled menacingly, advancing on him. After three steps, she changed her mind, and swivelled around instead to retrieve her luggage from the cold embers. Malfoy slid off the table gracefully, ginning broadly, and extended a hand.

"I can manage," she said frostily before storming off towards the ornate door at the end of the lavish drawing room, her distinct footfalls resounding throughout the handsome hall.

"You're going the wrong way," he called after her, his tone rich with amusement.

She pivoted on her heel, her nose tipped skyward, and trailed after the Malfoy heir, as he proceeded up an elegant marble staircase, bringing her to her new home.

* * *

Hermione entered her new living quarters, setting her suitcase on the carpeted floor, and began her inspection of her lodgings without delay. Her expansive chamber was decorated with an enormous antique bed and several rustic furnishings. There was a door, which she assumed led to a bathroom, and an enclosed veranda that overlooked the gardens. Her bedroom was clean, well arranged and solemn, which pleased her-albeit a feeling of melancholy had settled over her in her survey of her surroundings.

Already she sorely missed 12 Grimmauld Place. She idly wondered how Harry was functioning without her; 12 Grimmauld Place must be going up in flames now, because Harry decided to prepare some chicken fingers.

Despite her bodily weariness, for she had laboured (Ginny had dragged her to Diagon Alley to do some shopping) earlier in the day, she tossed and turned in feverish wakefulness, her limbs entangled in the silken sheets. Her whirring brain and the striking of the clock rendered sleeping an impossible task. The cause of her disquiet of mind was due to her worrying about the mission she'd undertaken, and how she would endeavour to accomplish it.

It was not till she had tired herself with hours of tossing sleeplessness, when it occurred to her that Malfoy's ludicrous antic earlier had distracted her from experiencing a flashback, but before she could dwell on that errant thought, a pleasant drowsiness overcame her, followed by the oblivion of sleep.

* * *

The shimmering sand glistened gold under the bright rays of the afternoon sun, silky and deliciously warm beneath her bare skin. Perfectly content, Hermione stretched languidly, like a smug cat emerging from a nap. A strong hand caressed her shoulder, startled, she turned; a breathtakingly handsome face was gazing down at her with a heartstoppingly beautiful smile.

"Simon," she sighed happily, reaching up to place a gentle palm on his cheek.

"Granger," Simon's perfectly sculpted mouth cooed. "Granger, get up. Granger, it's time to wake up."

She stared at him in sleepy confusion. Thinking he must be teasing, she smiled lazily and shuttered her eyes.

"Granger!"

That sounded like… She squinted through the haze; Simon's chiselled face seemed to glimmer; his visage appeared to drain of colour; the bronze skin was paling; the mirth-filled dark eyes were lightening, the dusky hair was becoming fair-

"Ugh, go away, Malfoy," she whined tiredly, tugging the sheets over her head as she rolled away from him. She almost lapsed back into unconsciousness when she felt herself being hoisted up into the air, and slung over a shoulder, a possessive hand splayed over her rump. Grogginess instantly dispelled, she let out a piercing scream.

"Louder, Granger, I don't think you've woken the whole of Britain yet."

"I'm up, I'm up! Let me down! And remove your hand from my arse!" she yelled angrily at his derriere, pounding her hands on his back.

"Arse? I wasn't aware you had one." Malfoy lazily slid the offending hand down to her thigh, and strolled onwards.

"Malfoy! You're going to rue the day you were born! Let. Me. Down!" she growled furiously, struggling mightily against him. "What the hell were you doing in my bedroom? Have you heard of knocking?"

"I knocked, for five minutes, bellowing your name," he clarified coolly and continued conversationally, "You sleep like the dead. There could be a third wizarding war and you'd sleep through it."

"I didn't get much sleep last night!" she defended herself irritably.

"Why? Were you thinking of me?"

"If thinking of ways to brutally maim you in your sleep count, then, yes, I was," she shot back caustically, doubling her efforts to break free, which alas, proved to be ineffectual and only resulted in an implacable grip.

"'Brutally maim'? You mean, passionately ravage me?"

"Argh! My next husband won't manhandle me like this!" she gasped indignantly, her body bouncing painfully as he trotted down a flight of stairs, her breath slamming out of her lungs. "He'll carry me bridal style and croon sweet nothings into my ear."

Malfoy chuckled, husky and deep, the rumble of laughter vibrated against her.

A trenchant comment was ready on her tongue, when she was suddenly slid off his shoulder and painfully dropped into a chair; her butt throbbed from the unforeseen action.

"Draco! Don't let me see you treat your wife like that!" rebuked the cool, clear voice belonging to her mother-in-law. "Good morning, Hermione."

Hermione smothered the laugh that bubbled inside her; Malfoy resembled a thoroughly chastised little boy as he blinked in silence at his mother's admonishment.

"Yes, Mother," he said in an affected humble tone and then, in a quieter voice when Narcissa was distracted by an elf's arrival," I won't let you see."

Hermione, however, whose attention was not as diverted as the Malfoy matriarch's, heard her husband's soft addition and she darted a glare of malignity at the smug man seated across her, who was now tucking into his syrup drenched pancakes with great avidity. She contemplated hurling her fork at him, but ultimately decided against it; Malfoy was not Harry, whose lightning quick reflexes prevented him from being hideously impaled by sharp eating utensils; Narcissa would, without a doubt, be most unhappy at her ill treatment of her only son.

She banished her thoughts of horribly disfiguring Malfoy's self-satisfied visage from her mind, and surveyed in a mixture of awe and incredulity, the dining table, heavily laden with a sumptuous spread of breakfast viands, their pleasant odour making her mouth water and her stomach rumble. If Ron knew this was what she would be served every morning, he would have happily married Malfoy.

"Hermione, you have a package." Narcissa jarred her from her reverie, taking a parcel from the tiny elf and lengthening an elegant arm to hand her it. Discomfited, she accepted it, wondering whom it could possibly be from. The package bore her new name 'Hermione Malfoy' and she felt a twinge of bitterness in her breast. Her curiosity piqued, she gingerly tore the brown wrapping paper, revealing an ancient looking tome with faded words on its binding. Joyous excitement welled up in her, this couldn't be..!

She flipped open the volume, and the moment her fingertips brushed the cover, they melded with it, and she felt something hook behind her navel, jerking her into darkness, spinning, jostling her as she hurtled to her unknown destination.

When she could finally pull her fingers free from the Portkey, she found herself sprawled on an enormous bed, in a vast bedroom, not dissimilar to her own at Malfoy Manor. And then, realization ambushed her; she didn't have her wand! Damn Malfoy, for carting her off from her room! Was this one of Malfoy's pranks? She was going to strangle the unfortunate life out of him, if it was. She slid off the satin covered bed, with every intention of examining her strange surroundings, when she heard a door opening behind her.

"Hello, Hermione."

* * *

**Do check out my other Dramione fics, they're significantly better (I hope) than this dismal series. Thank you for reading!**


	6. Chapter 6

Being an accomplished Auror, Hermione didn't need a wand to defend herself, but she would have liked to have her fingers curled around her vine, dragon heartstring anyway; it assured her, holding onto something familiar in unfamiliar territory. She also would have liked to set her eyes upon the mysterious speaker and have the satisfaction of seeing him paralysed by her wandless Full Body Bind Curse. But alas, for poor Hermione, she couldn't always have the things she wished for.

Even so, as she was jerked once again into black darkness, she couldn't help but desperately hope that this time, she would be transported to the Caribbean; an oiled Simon patiently awaiting her arrival, with grapes in one hand and a box of chocolates in another. Despite her hoping, Hermione never expected her wish to be granted, and it came to her as no surprise when she found herself back in the lavish dining room of Malfoy Manor. What she hadn't anticipated was her straddling an equally astonished Malfoy, his maple syrup-smudged mouth parted in surprise. For a moment, she was torn between wanting to guffaw at the utter stupefaction on his visage and wanting to shriek in absolute horror at being in a compromising position with him. In the end, the latter won.

"Argh, get off me, Malfoy!" she shouted, and promptly scrambled off his lap, hastily pulling down her thin camisole and cotton shorts that had ridden up during her little excursion.

"You were on me!" he yelled back, snatching up a napkin to wipe his dribbling mouth.

Ignoring her flagrant error, she rounded on him. "Couldn't you have summoned me a little later? I almost got him!"

"Him? What happened?" Malfoy demanded, sobered by the reminder of her brief abduction.

Hermione paced the length of the dining room as she recounted her kidnapping, beginning from when she'd touched the Portkey, to landing on the enormous bed, to the mysterious person that had greeted her by name just before she reappeared here.

"And how exactly did you summon me?" she asked curiously, after she was finished.

"Your ring. It has enchantments," he inclined his head to her hand.

She brought her hand up to examine the thin gold band that encircled her finger. It was unusually plain, adorned with none of the elaboration or intricacy the Malfoys were so fond of. She eyed him. "Can I summon you too?"

"Yes. But enough about the ring, did you see who he was?"

"No, because you summoned me before I could!" she snapped at him accusingly.

"Oh, I'm sorry, next time you're kidnapped, I'll make sure to be unconcerned," he drawled sarcastically, reaching for a jug to refill his glass.

"I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself," she sneered and fixed him with a haughty glare. "I need to see Harry."

"He should be with Mother in the drawing room. She called him the moment you disappeared."

"Oh, good," she smiled, the thought of seeing her best friend banishing her previous irritation. She looked about the dining room and asked, "Er, where is the drawing room?"

He pointed. "You're not going to see Potter dressed like that, are you?" he regarded Hermione's attire critically, rising from his seat as he drained his glass.

Hermione waved an impatient hand. "Harry's seen me in less than this before."

Malfoy spewed out his beverage, spraying the table before him with orange juice. "What?!"

"You heard me," she smirked roguishly and sashayed out of the dining room.

* * *

"Er, Hermione? Why does Malfoy look like he wants to murder me?"

"I might have left him with a misconception about us," Hermione whispered back.

"And what does he believe of us?" Harry glanced sideways at his friend as he lifted his cup to his lips.

"He thinks we've slept together," Hermione breathed into his ear just as Malfoy asked, "What are you two whispering -"

The absurdity of Hermione's statement caused Harry to inhale his beverage and he was immediately seized by a suffocating cough, inadvertently showering the sulking Malfoy, who had the unmerited misfortune of seating across him, with a spray of tea.

"Potter!" Malfoy roared indignantly; droplets of tea trickling down his disgusted features.

Harry laughed-coughed even harder. Stifling her giggles, Hermione flicked her wand at Malfoy, who instantly became dry, and soothingly rubbed Harry's heaving back.

"Potter, I am going to kill you in your sleep," Malfoy promised with slit eyes once Harry's coughing subsided, lifting his wand menacingly. Little sparks flew out from the tapered end, effectively terminating Harry's laughter.

"You will protect me right?" Harry looked at Hermione imperiously.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Are you Head Auror or not?"

The arrival of Narcissa Malfoy interrupted Harry's riposte, and had he wanted to press on, the Malfoy matriarch stopped him.

"Hermione, do your friends know how to get here? Incendio!" Narcissa pointed her wand at the fireplace and flames erupted in the hearth. She glided to the marble structure, scooped up a handful of Floo powder from a bowl perched on the mantelpiece and turned to look at Hermione.

"Er, is there a reason why they should?" Hermione asked, completely nonplussed by her mother-in-law's question.

"Draco's throwing a little party tonight," she looked at her son sternly.

"It slipped my mind," he shrugged insouciantly and smirked at Hermione who had been directing a withering glance at him.

"And I take it that I'm expected to be there?" Hermione asked the two Malfoys, even though she knew the answer.

"Yes." She looked at her watch, tossed the green powder into the crackling flames and stepped into it. "I'll be back before late afternoon. Diagon Alley!"

Soon after Narcissa's decampment, Hermione's stomach announced its presence, demanding to be appeased with victuals, specifically pancakes soaked in maple syrup.

"Want breakfast?" Malfoy grinned in amusement.

"After you spewed orange juice all over it? No," Hermione grimaced; the memory of Malfoy's reaction to her little lie was still fresh in her mind.

"Dippy!" Ignoring her, Malfoy called, and with a loud crack, a tiny house-elf appeared. "What would you like, Granger?"

"Er, cereal," she decided eventually, loath to employ the house-elf.

"Me too," Harry piped in, having had nothing since Narcissa Malfoy burst unannounced into 12 Grimmauld Place.

"I didn't ask you, Potter," Malfoy scowled at the Auror.

"We can share, right, Harry?" The two Gryffindors beamed at each other.

"Bring two bowls of cereal, Dippy," Malfoy sullenly told the tiny elf and it disappeared with a loud crack.

The house-elf returned almost immediately, bearing breakfast for the two Gryffindors, and the three launched into an obsessive discussion about the identity of Hermione's abductor and the motive behind her kidnap, which ended on an inconclusive note, after Malfoy decided that Harry had outstayed his welcome when the bespectacled man requested for a third helping of cereal.

Malfoy then proceeded to unceremoniously toss Harry into the Floo, unwittingly invoking his wife's ire, who, shortly after jinxing him, departed for the Burrow, leaving him alone, singing 'Barbie Girl'.

* * *

The billiard room, capacious and handsome, with dark wood wall panels and magnificent rugs, was filled with the sounds of knocking balls, of talking and laughter. Gathered around the large billiards table were familiar faces: Zabini, Pucey, Flint, Goyle and Parkinson - which took Hermione by surprise, as she'd expected more Slytherins, and unfamiliar ones at that, to turn up.

Five years since the Second Wizarding War had diminished the resentment and animosity between the two Houses, and so, it was all pleasant and civil between the Slytherins and the two Gryffindors. It was unfortunate that Ginny and gang hadn't been able to accept her last minute invitation, so it was just Harry and she in the roomful of merry Slytherins.

"I hate parties," Hermione remarked, watching in amusement as Parkinson lovingly stroked Goyle's blushing face. Parkinson and Goyle, they had to be the most mismatched couple in the history of mismatched couples until she remembered that she and Malfoy held that particular title.

"If you weren't such a lightweight, maybe you won't hate them so much," Harry commented from her side. "That time you proposed to Neville with an –"

Harry's tongue had melded to the roof of his mouth.

"You got rejected by _Longbottom_?" Malfoy laughed, having only heard the last part of Harry's interrupted sentence. His loud guffaws immediately died when he found himself in Harry's unpleasant predicament.

Hermione grinned as she left the two mute men to clutch at their throats, and moved to the other end of the vast room, to where shelves laden with thick volumes were suspended. A gorgeously bound book attracted her attention and she reached for it, but alas, the shelf it was stood on was too high and she stood there, glaring at it for making her feel acutely five foot five.

A hand floated into her vision; it plucked the offending tome easily off the crammed shelf and offered it to her. Startled, she accepted it, and followed the hand to its owner; a breathtakingly gorgeous man whose mouth was curved with a hint of a smile.

She gaped.

"_Simon_?"

* * *

**My classes start tomorrow. Because Satan himself generated my timetable, updates will be few and far between. Do let me know whatchu think of this abysmal series and thanks for reading!**


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